Strength for Today
by HermioneGirl96
Summary: Yuri managed to keep his eating disorder a secret until the day he collapsed at practice, but now he can't keep people from finding out anymore. Victor and Otabek immediately fly to St. Petersburg to be with Yuri, but the whole situation is hard on everyone, especially Yuuri, who's barely in eating disorder recovery himself. Yuri, meanwhile, won't admit that there's anything wrong.
1. By Your Side

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice or any of these characters.**

 **A/N: This fic is not meant to glorify or romanticize eating disorders in any way. If you are struggling with your relationship with food,** _ **please**_ **reach out to someone and get help.**

 **A note on how this was written: I had an mild eating disorder when I was fourteen; after several months of restricting my food intake, eventually I started eating more food again when all my suppressed hunger came back with a vengeance, and I recovered with a LOT of help from my friends. I was never hospitalized and I never did cognitive-behavioral therapy. One of my cousins recently spent multiple months in inpatient care due to anorexia, and I know a little bit about what that was like via the family grapevine. I only did a small amount of formal research for this fic, though. I'm sorry for any misrepresentations I may make.**

When Victor checked his phone upon stepping out of the shower, he saw he had six missed calls from Yakov. He was confused for a few moments, and then his stomach sank. _Yurio_. Maybe he'd fallen? Or—the kid had looked thinner than ever at Rostelecom last month. Was he ill? Victor tried to mentally run through a list of conditions that caused weight loss, but nothing came to mind. He hadn't gone to college, after all. Even secondary school had been a bit of a joke. Everything had been skating for as long as he could remember. His medical knowledge came from his interactions with sports doctors and physical therapists over the years, not from biology class.

Without bothering to get dressed first, Victor unlocked his phone, hit the redial button with shaking fingers, and held the phone up to his ear. He could feel eyes on him, and he turned to see Yuuri toweling off. Ordinarily he would have found the sight distracting, but right now he was too unnerved for that.

"Vitya," said Yakov's voice after the first ring.

"What's going on?" Victor asked, sitting down on the bed.

"Yurochka is . . . not well."

"What kind of 'not well'? Does he have cancer? Is he dying?" Yuuri had put on clothes and now joined Victor on the bed, putting his arm around Victor's naked back.

"We're pretty sure he has an eating disorder. He collapsed at practice. He's in the hospital."

If Victor's stomach had sunk before, now it plummeted, as if off of several cliffs. But, just like falling in competition, he had to get back up. That's what he was good at, what he'd trained at more than anything else. So he steeled himself and said, "I'll be on the next flight."

"Vitya, that's not why I—"

"Please, I've got lots of practice being there for my Yuuri. I need to at least try to help. I'll be there soon."

"Thank you," said Yakov. Victor had heard those words come out of Yakov's mouth before, on rare occasions, but never in his direction. If he hadn't been so concerned, he might have blushed.

"Of course," said Victor before hanging up.

"Where are you headed?" Yuuri asked, laying his head on Victor's shoulder. "Is someone dying?"

"It's Yurio," Victor replied. "They think he has an eating disorder. He's been hospitalized. I'm going to Russia."

Yuuri stiffened. "Skate America is in two weeks, Vitya. You can't abandon me right before a competition. Not _again_."

Victor stared at Yuuri. He hadn't had the news about Yurio long enough to anticipate any sort of reaction from Yuuri, true, but he certainly wouldn't have counted on that amount of ice in his fiance's tone. "Come to Russia, then. You can train with my old rinkmates."

"What, you want Yakov to coach me again? Because that worked so well last time. Will he even be at the rink, or will he be at the hospital with his star skater?"

"I'll keep coaching you," Victor promised. "I just need to be in Russia right now, okay? Yurio is like a little brother to me. I can't let him suffer alone."

"He's not alone, and he's not your responsibility; that's what Yakov's for. Besides, you're my coach _and_ my fiance. Aren't you supposed to be concerned about _me_?"

Victor brought Yuuri's hand to his mouth and kissed it. "I am, love. That's why I need to be there for Yurio. After everything you and I have been through, I'm going to have a better idea of what to say than anyone."

"Vitya . . ."

" _Please_ , Yuuri. He's practically family."

Yuuri softened then, relaxing into Victor's side, and sighed. "And if you didn't love as widely and generously as you do, I probably wouldn't be marrying you."

Victor turned his head to kiss Yuuri's temple. "Thank you."

Yuuri stood, still holding Victor's hand. "So, I suppose we need to pack?"

Victor stood, too, and dropped Yuuri's hand in favor of grabbing a towel and his phone. "Right. I'll book the flight and get dressed, and then we can get suitcases together."

 **A/N: The fic title is from the hymn "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" by Thomas Chisholm and William M. Runyan, because I'm one of those rare fangirls who goes to church every Sunday and names fics after hymns. Chapter titles are from "By Your Side" by Tenth Avenue North.**


	2. Whenever You're Falling

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice or any of these characters.**

 **A/N: Again, this fic is not meant to glorify or romanticize eating disorders in any way. If you are struggling with your relationship with food,** _ **please**_ **reach out to someone and get help.**

 **Again, this was written partly from personal experience, partly from the experiences of people I know, and partly from a small amount of research. I'm sorry for any misrepresentations I may make.**

Yuri woke up with tubes in his arms. The tubes were attached to bags on poles, which Yuri squinted at to read the labels. One said "saline," which meant it was mostly water; that was fine. But the other said "lipids." Fuck. That meant fats. Which would make him fat. He grabbed the tube and pulled, trying to extricate it from his arm.

A hand closed around his wrist, tugged his hand away from the tube, and laid it on his not-concave-enough stomach. Yuri didn't need to look up to know who had just intervened; he knew Lilia's veins and rings all too well.

"Try that again and I'll have you tranquilized," Lilia promised, and if Yuri hadn't known her for years he would have missed the undercurrents of fear and care in her harsh voice.

"But—"

"You've been withdrawn from the rest of the 2018-2019 competitive season. Fight any part of your treatment and this season won't be all you lose."

"But—"

"Yurochka. Do you understand that you could die?"

"What?" Yuri scoffed. "A little dieting never hurt anybody."

"Anything that makes you collapse at practice is not 'a little dieting.'"

Yuri glared at Lilia, hating everything about her, down to the last hair and wrinkle. She didn't know what she was talking about. All he needed was to get these fucking tubes out of him and go the fuck _home_.

He grabbed the tubes in his arm and pulled.

Lilia's hands slammed into his shoulders, pinning him to the bed while she called, "Nurse! Nurse!" She held him fast against the bed for a few minutes, until a nurse bustled into the room and Lilia could explain what had happened. The nurse nodded and left when Lilia was done explaining, only to return a minute later with another nurse and a needle that she jabbed into Yuri's arm. While Lilia and the second nurse held Yuri down, the first nurse reattached the needles that Yuri had yanked from his skin a few minutes prior. By the time she was done with this process, Yuri felt inexplicably drowsy, and within a couple more minutes, during which he was still held down by Lilia and the nurses, he fell asleep.

When he woke up, it took him awhile to blink his eyes open, but when he managed to open his eyes and turn his head toward the visitor's chair, he saw Otabek sitting there rather than Lilia, bags under his eyes, phone in hand, earbuds in his ears. At Yuri's movement, Otabek set his phone in his lap, popped his earbuds out of his ears and slung them around his neck, and looked into Yuri's eyes.

"Yura . . ."

"You didn't have to come, Beka. Isn't Skate America coming up? I don't know what they told you, but I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Yura! You were always thin and now you've dropped a fifth of your body weight while going through a growth spurt! We're lucky you're not dead! Jesus, imagine if you'd collapsed doing one of your jumps. You could have—"

"I don't need a lecture, Beka, and it's not like you to give me one."

Otabek crossed his arms. "Yeah, well, ordinarily you don't scare the shit out of me."

"Fuck off."

"No. I'm not letting you die."

"Fuck _off_. I'm not dying."

Otabek sighed. "I don't want to fight. Do you want to see if I can make Netflix work on the hospital wifi?"

Yuri relaxed a bit. "Okay. If not, we can use my phone. I've got unlimited data." He looked around the bed and then said, "Beka. Where's my phone?"

"I don't know," Otabek said, but he blushed like he did when he was lying.

"Liar," Yuri accused immediately. "Where's my phone?"

Otabek sighed again. "Lilia has it."

" _What_? Why?"

"I don't know exactly. I think she said something about Instagram being bad for you."

" _What_? That bitch knows nothing. Instagram isn't fucking bad for me; it's where I get my validation!"

"Yura, _please_ don't shoot the messenger."

"You could have taken it back from her."

"No I couldn't have." Otabek sounded exhausted. "It's at her house. Do you really expect me to spend my time breaking into her house rather than sitting with you at the hospital?"

"I don't need to be babysat, and I _need_ my phone."

Otabek didn't manage to conceal a wince, but all he said was, "You're under supervision, Yura. Your options are Lilia, the nurses, or me."

"I don't. Need. To be babysat."

"Can we just try to watch a movie? Please?" Otabek sounded desperate now.

"Fine." As Otabek pulled out his laptop, Yuri mumbled, "I missed you."

Otabek's eyes shot to Yuri. "I missed you too." Then Otabek set up his computer on his lap and frowned at it for a few moments. After a bit, he stopped frowning and moved the laptop to Yuri's thighs. "Is this okay?"

Yuri peered at the screen for a moment. A horror movie. Perfect. "Sure, yeah."

Otabek pressed play, and Yuri could feel the pressure of Otabek's finger in his legs. It was almost as good as Otabek touching him. He wanted Otabek to touch him very, very badly, but he was convinced he didn't deserve that yet. He wasn't good enough yet. He didn't have enough medals and he wasn't thin enough and he still relied on food too much. But he'd get there, someday. Someday he'd be good enough for Otabek.

About 20 minutes into the movie, Otabek asked, "Yura, what's wrong?"

"Huh? Nothing."

"Then why are you shaking?"

"What? Oh. I'm just shivering. It's fucking cold in here. Don't worry; it's just cold everywhere in Russia." Yuri didn't remember being this cold when he was younger, but it had been awhile since he'd gotten used to shivering pretty much constantly.

"No, it's—" Something like realization dawned on Otabek's face, and he said, "Move over."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Yuri scooted over to the right side of the bed, noticing the pressure of the mattress against his body as he did so. He didn't remember beds hurting like this before, but beauty was supposed to hurt.

And then he was entirely distracted from the pain because Otabek kicked his shoes off and _got into bed with him_ , careful to avoid the IVs. It took a minute for Otabek to get settled, but then he reached his right arm up and around Yuri's head and then lowered it so that it covered most of Yuri's right arm. Otabek's left arm, meanwhile, rested on Yuri's embarrassing stomach, and the contact (plus Otabek's body heat) felt so good that Yuri couldn't quite bring himself to ask Otabek not to touch him there. This was the first time the two of them had ever shared a bed. They'd shared rooms more than a handful of times now, at competitions, but a bed? Never.

"Better?" Otabek asked.

"Yeah," Yuri breathed, a little giddy. "Thanks."

Yuri returned at least half of his attention to the movie, but he couldn't quite ignore the way Otabek's right thumb was rubbing circles on his forearm, or the way Otabek's breath tickled his ear. After another half hour, Otabek's breathing slowed. It occurred to Yuri that this was his chance. He looked at his left arm, where the IVs were attached. The tubes were taped to his skin more thoroughly than they had been the last time he woke up. He brought his right hand slowly up toward his left arm so that he could undo the tape. He had nearly reached the tape when—

"Nnn," grunted Otabek. Yuri couldn't help but turn to look at his best friend, who was blinking his eyes open. "Not comfortable?" Otabek asked, his voice gravelly.

"I'm fine," Yuri whispered. "Go back to sleep."

"Sorry," said Otabek, lowering his eyes. "I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"It's fine," Yuri replied. "You can sleep more if you want."

"Are you sure you're comfortable with that?"

"You didn't ask if I was comfortable with you getting into bed with me."

"Oh shit, are you not?" Otabek asked, his eyes snapping back to Yuri's face.

"Of course I am. And I'm fine with you sleeping, too. It's all fine."

Otabek snuggled harder into Yuri's side. "Thank you, Yura."

Otabek fell asleep again after another half hour. Much as Yuri wanted to take his IVs out, he didn't dare move this time, both because he didn't want to disturb Otabek's sleep and because he didn't want to have the fight that would inevitably result if Otabek caught him detaching his IVs. Besides, Yuri had started to think through the logistics of the situation and had realized that escape from the hospital would be really fucking difficult. He didn't know which hospital he was at, but there weren't any particularly near Lilia's house, which meant that getting home would require either a long walk or an Uber ride. The former was complicated by his lack of shoes and the latter was made impossible by his lack of a wallet or phone. Plus, if Lilia noticed him arrive home, assuming he could get there, she would just send him right back to the hospital.

This wasn't to say that he wasn't going to escape. He just needed more time to come up with a plan.

When there were about ten minutes left in the movie, Yuri heard the door to his room open and looked up to see Victor standing in the doorway, silver hair shining in the hospital's fluorescent lights.

"What the fuck are you doing in Russia? You live in Japan," Yuri said. Victor had returned to Russia, Yuuri in tow, last season, to train with Yakov, but, for reasons Yuri didn't entirely understand and that Victor and Yuuri had certainly never discussed satisfactorily with the press, Victor had retired so that he and Yuuri could move back to Japan as soon as the 2017-2018 season had ended.

"Am I interrupting something?" Victor replied, gesturing to Otabek and then to Yuri.

"No," Yuri responded immediately. Even if something did ever happen between him and Otabek, Victor would hardly be the first person he'd tell.

Otabek squirmed a bit at Yuri's side and then yawned, waking up. "Sorry."

Victor looked at Otabek. "Otabek, would you like to go get a hotel? That can't be the most comfortable place for you to sleep."

"It's all right," said Otabek, taking his arm from around Yuri so that he could turn off the movie.

Victor made a skeptical face, eyebrows raised. "Please. You're no good to anyone exhausted."

Otabek glared at Victor. "As if you've slept either. Your flight must have just gotten in."

"Pssht. I'm good at sleeping on planes," Victor retorted. "But fine. Stay. I just need to talk to Yurio."

"That's not my fucking name, old man," Yuri half-shouted.

"Yurochka. I'm sorry." Victor sounded genuinely regretful. "Though, actually, it might be good for me to talk to both of you." Victor ran a hand through his hair and said, "The first thing both of you need to understand is that Yurochka is sick."

"I know that," Otabek replied, glaring at Victor, at the same time as Yuri snapped, "No I'm not! Why does everyone keep fucking _saying_ that?"

"We keep saying it because it's true, Yurochka. Your first step is to recognize something's wrong," Victor said. "And Otabek, what I mean is that you need to realize that Yurochka didn't choose this. He's not making choices right now. The illness is in control."

Otabek nodded. "Okay, that makes sense."

"What the hell?" Yuri snapped in Otabek's face. "You're siding with Lilia and Victor? Against me?"

"It's not against you, Yura," Otabek said, his voice soothing now as he rubbed circles on Yuri's arm again. "It's against your illness."

"I'm not ill!" Yuri protested.

"You collapsed at practice, Yura," Otabek said gently.

Yuri shrugged. "I was just a little dehydrated."

"The second thing you need to know, Otabek," Victor said, "is that recovery is never really over. Things get a little easier, sometimes, but they're always hard."

"Can you stop talking about me like I'm not fucking here?" Yuri demanded.

"Since when are you an authority on any of this?" Otabek asked at the same time.

Victor kept looking at Otabek and said, "You can't tell the press."

Otabek rolled his eyes. "Obviously. Wait. Is this why you and Yuuri moved back to Japan?"

Victor smiled joylessly. "Got it in one."

"You or Yuuri?"

"Yuuri."

"I'm nothing like your fucking pig," Yuri said. "Just because he's pathetic enough to get sick doesn't mean there's anything wrong with me."

Victor winced, just barely. "You've never listened to me when it comes to anything but quads," he said to Yuri, "so I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that you're not listening now. Once you accept that you're sick, there's more I can say to you, about what treatment and recovery are like and about the fact that your worth as a person was never determined by how you look or by your weight or by what you eat or anything like that. But I don't know if any of that would help yet." He sighed. "Just know that I've always cared about you and I always will, all right? I know you don't like me much, but please know that you can call me whenever. That's what I'm here for."

"You're wasting your time, geezer," Yuri replied.

Victor ran a hand through his hair. "You almost make me believe that." Then he looked at Otabek. "If you'd like to talk . . ."

"I'd love to, but he's under supervision," said Otabek, nodding at Yuri. "I kind of need to stay here."

"I can get you some coffee," Victor offered, "but you're going to need to sleep eventually."

"I know. I'll call a nurse the next time I doze off," said Otabek. "Coffee would be amazing, though. And anything you could text me—do you have my number?"

Victor took out his phone and tapped it a few times. "No, I don't think so."

Otabek gave him his number and Victor left in search of coffee. As soon as he was gone, Yuri turned to Otabek and said, "I can't believe you're siding with him."

Otabek reached forward and brushed Yuri's hair off his face. Yuri shivered at the touch. "You're in real danger, Yura. Like he said, your first step is acknowledging that you're sick."

"I'm _fine_."

 **A/N: Once again, the fic title is from the hymn "Great Is Thy Faithfulness" by Thomas Chisholm and William M. Runyan, and chapter titles are from "By Your Side" by Tenth Avenue North.**


	3. The Dead of Night

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice or any of these characters.**

 **A/N: Again, this fic is not meant to glorify or romanticize eating disorders in any way. If you are struggling with your relationship with food,** _ **please**_ **reach out to someone and get help.**

 **Again, this was written partly from personal experience, partly from the experiences of people I know, and partly from a small amount of research. I'm sorry for any misrepresentations I may make.**

It was late when Victor got back to his apartment from the hospital. He still had a lease on the place through December 31, and he'd been planning on returning to Russia after the Grand Prix to clean out the remaining furniture, though he'd had some of his things shipped to Japan when he moved last year. Given the time of day, Victor was expecting Yuuri to have ordered takeout or gone grocery shopping and cooked something—either way, to have eaten. Nevertheless, he had learned never to take it for granted that Yuuri was eating, so the first thing he said when he walked in the door was, "Yuuri, I'm home! Did you have dinner yet?"

Yuuri came into the hall from the bedroom, wearing sweats and looking haunted. "No. Vitya—I can't."

"Did you forget that you can look up takeout places on your phone?" Victor asked, though he was almost positive he knew the real reason Yuuri hadn't eaten and this wasn't it.

"No. I just—it's all coming back to me, being here and thinking about him, and it feels like he's winning a game that I quit, you know?" Yuuri's voice wobbled.

"He was shivering the entire time I was there, even though Otabek was in bed with him." Victor walked over and wrapped Yuuri in a strong hug. "That's not winning, love."

"No, I know, I just—he's always been so _pretty_ , so if _he_ feels the need to do this, how much more do _I_ need it?"

Victor rubbed a hand through Yuuri's hair. "I think he felt the need to do this _because_ he's always been pretty, and he felt like his growth spurt threatened that." He drew back enough to look into his fiance's eyes. "But no comparing, remember? You have your body, and he has his body, and I have my body, and that's how it works, yeah? And wishing you looked like someone else isn't going to do you any favors."

"I just can't avoid it sometimes," Yuuri replied.

"Well, we're going to try," said Victor, finally stepping out of the hug. "And we're ordering dinner, and you're going to eat, and you're not going to throw up. Okay?"

"I'll try, coach."

Victor raised his eyebrows.

"I mean I will," Yuuri amended.

"Good," said Victor. He ordered takeout and queued up a movie to distract Yuuri until the food arrived. When the food got there about half an hour later, he got cutlery from the kitchen and left the movie playing while he and Yuuri ate.

After a few minutes of eating, Yuuri said, "Vitya, I want to be done."

Victor looked at Yuuri's food container. He'd eaten about a third of the food, and it wasn't as if these were American portions. "Try to eat a few more bites, love."

Yuuri closed his eyes and said, "I want to throw up."

Victor's eyebrows raised in alarm. "Like, you feel sick, or you feel like you _should_ throw up?"

"Like I should," Yuuri muttered.

Victor rubbed Yuuri's feet, knowing from experience that this helped Yuuri swallow when his body wanted to reject food. "Can you try to eat three more bites? For me? Please?"

"Okay," said Yuuri after a while. He ate a bite, and then another, and then another, pausing to chew for much longer than necessary between each one. After the three bites, he set aside his food container with an air of finality and turned back to the movie.

Victor didn't sleep well that night.


	4. Please Don't Fight

**Disclaimer: I don't own Yuri on Ice or any of these characters.**

 **A/N: Again, this fic is not meant to glorify or romanticize eating disorders in any way. If you are struggling with your relationship with food,** _ **please**_ **reach out to someone and get help.**

 **Again, this was written partly from personal experience, partly from the experiences of people I know, and partly from a small amount of research. I'm sorry for any misrepresentations I may make.**

After Victor left, Otabek and Yuri tried to watch a new movie, but, even with the coffee, Otabek started nodding off again midway through it, so he got out of Yuri's bed and called for a nurse. When one came, Otabek left to find a hotel—Yuri hoped some were still accepting guests this late at night—and nurses watched Yuri the rest of the night. He had hoped that they, too, would nod off and he would have a chance to undo the tape on his arms and pull his IVs out again, but the nurses were remarkably alert.

Otabek showed up early the next morning, the shadows under his eyes larger and darker than ever, but he stayed in the chair this time and tried to talk to Yuri about video games and cats and other topics not related to skating or food. Maybe 45 minutes after Otabek showed up, a doctor with a brown ponytail and glasses arrived and introduced herself as Doctor Mikhailova.

"Mr. Plisetsky," she said to Yuri after shaking hands with both him and Otabek, "I have your medical history here"—she held up a file—"and it looks like you've had your weight and height recorded before every major competition for the past several years. There's a recording from last month that doesn't fit with the trajectory your weight had been on for several years prior to that. The reading is so unusual that there are three options for how to interpret it: It's a mistake, you have an eating disorder, or you're gravely ill with some other kind of disease. The first step is to figure out whether it was a mistake, so could you come with me?"

Yuri pushed himself into a sitting position with his arms and swung his legs over to the side of the bed as the room spun a bit. The spinning didn't bother him anymore; he'd gotten used to it over the last several months. He stood and tried not to sway. He hadn't fully realized that he was wearing a hospital gown until now—that he was _wearing a hospital gown in front of Otabek_ —but that thought suddenly dominated his consciousness.

"You're going to need to hold onto your IV pole so that nothing pulls out of your arms," said Doctor Mikhailova. "You're not in much danger of that thanks to the tape, but dragging an IV pole behind you is never comfortable."

Yuri grabbed his IV pole and padded stocking-footed after Doctor Mikhailova out of his room and into the hallway, where there was a scale. He stood on it when she asked and, fuck, he'd gained 0.6 kg since he weighed himself last. Was that yesterday morning? The morning before last? How long had he been here? Victor had had time to arrive from Japan, so probably over a day. Whatever the case was, he needed to get the fucking lipids IV out of him soon before he gained anymore weight, and he needed to get back to practice.

Doctor Mikhailova peered at the scale. "Well, the previous reading certainly wasn't wrong," she said. "We can head back to your room now."

Yuri followed the doctor back into his room and sat down on the bed, his bones digging into the mattress uncomfortably.

Doctor Mikhailova pulled a paper out of the manila file folder she was carrying and produced a pen from the pocket of her white coat. "Now I have some questions for you. I need you to be absolutely honest with me, do you understand? If we don't treat you for the right thing, you could die."

"Everyone keeps _saying_ that," Yuri groused.

Doctor Mikhailova looked at him sharply. "That would be because it's true. Now. First, what do you typically eat in a day?"

"I have a protein shake or a banana for breakfast, and then at night I eat an energy bar and sometimes a salad."

"Jesus, Yura," said Otabek.

"Any food during the day?" Doctor Mikhailova asked. "Lunch? Snacks?"

"No," Yuri said.

Otabek had his head down, but he was looking up at Yuri with a pained expression on his face that Yuri did his best to ignore.

"Why aren't you eating more? Are you nauseous? Have you lost your appetite?" the doctor asked.

"No. I just don't deserve food."

"Yura . . ."

Doctor Mikhailova seemed to ignore Otabek. "Why don't you deserve food?"

"Because I'm fat."

"What the actual fuck, Yura?"

"You're a professional skater, Mr. Plisetsky, correct?" Doctor Mikhailova asked.

"Correct."

"So," said the doctor, "you get far more exercise than the average person and eat less than half the calories we'd recommend for someone of your height who only exercised moderately. And that's a _generous_ estimate. Your body is consuming itself, Mr. Plisetsky, and it's doing it fast. Your muscles are shrinking and, if you carry on like this for even a few more weeks, you'll barely be able to skate at all, let alone do any sort of jumps. A few weeks longer and you'd be dead. So. We need to address this, starting now."

"I'm _fine._ "

Doctor Mikhailova gave a tight-lipped smile. "I am far more qualified to make a judgment on that than you are, and I can tell you with absolute certainty that you are nowhere near 'fine.'"

Otabek let out a sob. Yuri looked at him for the first time in a while and noticed that his face was covered in tear tracks. It felt like someone had stuck a knife between Yuri's ribs and twisted. Making Otabek happy had been one of his primary goals in life ever since Barcelona, right up there with taking gold in every event he competed in, and never had he seen his own failure written so obviously on his friend's face.

"Beka—" Yuri said, not sure what came next.

"Why are you doing this?" Otabek demanded, his voice constricted. "Who ever told you that you weren't good enough? Why couldn't you talk to me about it? Why won't you listen to anyone? We all just want to help you, Yura. Why can't you let us help you?"

"I don't need help," Yuri insisted.

"Do you honestly believe that?" Otabek asked, wiping at his still-falling tears.

Yuri thought of katsudon piroshkies, and borscht, and blini, and pizza, and all the other foods he loved that he hadn't tasted in the months since his grandfather died. He hadn't allowed himself to think about food this whole time, and he'd gotten good at mentally avoiding the topic, but now it all hit him at once, and he bit back a sob of his own. On impulse, he reached out and took one of Otabek's hands, which was sticky with drying tears. "Help me, Beka," he said.

Otabek held tight to Yuri's hand, his fingers warm against Yuri's cold digits. "Always. Thank God."

"Tomorrow, you will be moved to an inpatient facility," Doctor Mikhailova said, and Yuri looked back at her while holding fast to Otabek.

"Says who?" Yuri demanded.

"Mr. Feltsman and Ms. Baranovskaya have signed the paperwork. You are still a minor, Mr. Plisetsky, and they are your legal guardians."

Four and a half fucking months until he became and adult and he was being treated like a fucking child. He'd developed a bit of self-control in the past two years, though, and so, instead of yelling like he would have at fifteen, he grit his teeth and said, "How long will I be there?"

"That all depends on you," said Doctor Mikhailova. "At least a month, possibly several."

Yuri had already known that he'd been withdrawn from the season, but fuck. This made it so much more real.

Otabek spoke for the first time in a while. "Are visitors allowed?"

"Not during the first week, but afterward supervised visits are allowed."

"Beka, no," said Yuri firmly. "I might be ruining my career, apparently, but I'm not letting this ruin yours. You're going back to Kazakhstan."

Otabek sighed. "I wish I were as rich as Victor. Then I'd say career be damned, I'm staying with you. But I'm not. As soon as the Grand Prix is over, though, I'm coming back to Russia, and I'm Skyping you as much as I'm allowed until then, time difference or no time difference. If I don't make the Grand Prix, I'll be back even earlier."

Yuri narrowed his eyes. "You'd better fucking make the Grand Prix, or I won't speak to you when you come back."

"Yeah, well, you'd better fucking survive until the Grand Prix is over, or I won't speak to you in the afterlife," Otabek shot back.

Yuri snatched his hand away from Otabek's, feeling burned. "Beka—"

"I need you alive, Yura," Otabek said simply.

"Russia needs you alive, Mr. Plisetsky," said Dr. Mikhailova.

At that, Yuri felt himself steeling inside, becoming the soldier Otabek had called him two years ago. This was the next obstacle in his path, and everyone knew what the great Yuri Plisetsky did to obstacles. He could do this. He was going to _rock_ recovery.

 **A/N: No, I don't think things will be easy from here on out or that Yuri is magically cured, but I do think his thinking has shifted, if only a little bit and only temporarily. I might write a sequel at some point, but probably not for a few months if ever.**


End file.
